The Rules of Royal Propriety
by Diamond Mask
Summary: Which, rather predictably, Alita flouted at every turn. Alita x Milano. Shoujo-ai.


_The Rules of Royal Propriety_

_An Alita x Milano Fanfic_

_Disclaimer_: I do not own _Murder Princess_ or any of the respective characters.

_A/N_: An early Christmas gift for my dear Val-Creative.

And just to note - I refer to Falis as Alita, and Alita as Milano for the majority of the story. In other words, their identities _after_ they switched bodies (just to avoid confusion becuase the tags for the story list 'Falis' and 'Alita F'). All clear? Good. Now enjoy.

* * *

She had not yet mastered the tiny, dainty steps and the stately grace required of a princess as she walked, and Milano despaired of ever teaching the woman. Alita strode the palace halls as if she owned every inch of it, and each step was a blatant dare for someone to oppose her, while the thumb and index finger of the right hand never strayed far from her sword. She swaggered with the confidence of a man, a self-assurance that Milano envied, but she still wished that Alita would just _try_ to appear more ladylike.

Alita's sudden lack of femininity mattered little in the greater scheme of the kingdom. The people of Forland loved their Murder Princess in their own way, and even the laundry maidens who despaired of removing bloodstains from expensive silk gowns, and the seamstresses charged with mending those dresses (aside from the bloodstains, Falis had a tendency to tear them apart at the seams), watched the princess with admiring – even lustful – eyes.

Milano sighed, watching her former body strut down the corridor. The demure little princess had disappeared completely, and Alita's body had changed in subtle ways that she had not failed to notice.

There was an enticing sway to the hips that had not been there before, a faint pout that now plumped out the rosebud mouth temptingly, a wicked glint to the eyes that sparked a tiny flame of desire in those Alita chose to acknowledge.

And Alita, the proper and virginal fairytale princess, had now been relegated to the timid, demure little maid trailing in the princess's wake.

"Milano? What is it?"

"Ah, nothing, Princess. I was just lost in thought." She smiled brightly at Alita, who only frowned.

Did it pain her to look at Falis – to see what Alita had become? Yes. It did. Alita had been beloved by her people before, but not like this. Not admired. Not _worshipped_.

"I've been meaning to ask, Milano…"

Milano paused when Alita did, dropping her eyes and her chin when the princess turned to her.

"I want you to stop this nonsense."

The maid hesitated. "Stop what, Princess?" she asked carefully, and then she gasped when her chin was jerked up roughly.

"_This_," Alita said impatiently. "I am not your superior, Milano. You don't have to scrape and bow to me. You won't even walk next to me when we're together."

"It is no longer appropriate for me to walk beside Your Highness. I must remain always two steps behind you–"

"I don't care about your damned court protocol. You are equal to me in every respect."

Milano's cheeks flushed. "I beg your pardon, but I am _not_ equal to Your Highness."

"Not equal to me? Milano, you _are_ a damn princess. _You're_ still Alita."

_Am I? As long as we remain in each other's bodies, I am not Alita – not anymore.. Nor am I who Falis used to be. I'm not even Milano… I am little more than an imposter. _

"Her Highness forgets that I am merely a maid."

Alita's eyes narrowed to slits at the chilly tone, and she grasped Milano's arm, yanking her closer. "How could you ever think that?" she muttered agitatedly, more to herself than the other woman. "When have I ever given you reason to think that you're merely a maid?"

"Princess, I wish to be excused."

"No."

"Princess," she whispered. "Please let go of me."

"No."

"Let go of me, Falis!"

"_There_. Was that really so hard?" the other woman laughed softly, her hand moving up from Milano's arm to touch her cheek, and Milano drew in a sharp breath.

"P-Princess?"

"To say my name, Milano. It's not that difficult, is it?"

"Your name," she whispered back shakily, "is Alita Forland. I just– out of habit–"

"Alita, Falis…" she shrugged. "As long as I don't have to hear you call me 'princess', I don't care. I don't care for this formality that you impose on me constantly. It's unnecessary, not to mention annoying."

Milano flushed. "But it's not appropriate–"

"_Their _notions of what is 'appropriate' can go to hell."

The Murder Princess smiled at her, and faced with the smoldering red eyes and the hint of teeth bared in that smile, Milano could only nod weakly in acceptance.

* * *

There was something else that bothered her about Falis.

Falis… was a grown woman. A woman free of any societal bonds. She could do what she wanted, go where she pleased, and consort with any manner of people if she wished. Obviously, that included men. And what Falis did with those men was _not_ appropriate for a princess.

Princess Alita had been raised in a cloistered environment, and the only males in her life were either family or too old to warrant the interest of a young girl. Princesses, as a rule, inhibited any and all sexual desire until they were married – to the appropriate consort, of course.

Milano despaired as she watched Falis – now Alita – flirt shamelessly with a handsome young noble. Her brother was not here to escort the princess (and Falis would have scorned the idea of having an escort), and so there was no one to discourage such behavior. When she saw Alita whisper something in the young man's ear, and a gloved hand stroked lightly on his arm, Milano broke.

She would not allow Alita to rob her of _her_ precious virginity, since it was clear _exactly_ what this Alita wanted.

Armed with an expression of perfect timidity, Milano approached the couple, and curtseyed. "I beg your pardon for the interruption, Princess, my lord," she began sweetly, "but I am afraid that Her Highness is needed urgently elsewhere."

The princess rolled her eyes, looking disgusted. "What is it?"

"Her Highness is needed elsewhere. _Now_."

Alita looked startled at the firmness in Milano's voice, and her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Very well." She turned to the nobleman, and said brusquely, "You may go now."

His expression turned crestfallen. "Ah, but, Princess–"

"Go." Falis pointed an arm imperiously at the door, before her hand drifted down to rest casually on the hilt of her sword. His eyes widened in alarm.

Milano watched him scurry away. "You could have handled that more diplomatically, Princess," she said reproachfully. "He is the son of the Baron Von–"

"Do you really think I care for that?"

Milano sighed. "No. I suppose not."

"So, what is this urgent business I have to attend to?"

"Oh." She felt her face grow warm. "I – that is–"

"Hmm? That was rather sneaky of you, Milano."

Now, she felt a prickling of shame. It was in the interest of the kingdom that their princess remain pure, but Milano hated being deceptive. With a mournful sigh, she opened her mouth to apologise and explain her actions, when Falis said –

"If you were jealous, you could have just said so."

A shocked pause, then a startled "_what_?"

Falis grinned at the squeak that emerged from her mouth, before leaning forward and touching Milano's chin lightly. Milano quivered under the touch of the silken fingertips, and she could feel their heat on her bottom lip.

"P-Princess, t-t-this is…"

"Oh?"

There was a sudden mischievous gleam in Alita's eyes that she didn't like at _all_. But the princess had her backed against a wall now, and – she looked frantically from side to side, and over Alita's shoulder – there was no one to intervene.

_Oh_… Alita was so _close_.

"Milano," she whispered, fingers moving up to cup a smooth cheek, "were you jealous that I was giving my attentions to that man?"

"N-no…" came the answering mumble.

"I don't believe you."

The soft chuckle swept over her skin like gossamer, and she shivered.

"Milano…"

That soft, sing-song tone was _unnerving_. And the way Alita was _looking_ at her… Milano felt like a mouse caught in the talons of a hawk.

"It isn't allowed!" she blurted out, clutching her hands to her chest to stop herself from pushing Alita away.

"What isn't?"

"This…" she blushed even harder before whispering, "such intimacy between a princess and another. That man was not your husband!"

Alita blinked. "…So?"

_If only she wasn't so crude! _

"The Princess of Forland must remain pure in body and spirit. She must present herself as a virgin on her wedding day–"

"Is that all this is about? You're such a prude, Milano!"

"I am not," she retorted sharply, stung by the remark. "This is _tradition_, Falis. Tradition which that body – _my_ body – must hold too! _Don't laugh_!"

"Ah, Milano, I'm sorry." Alita looped an arm around her waist to hold her in place. "Truly. That was thoughtless of me."

Mortified, Milano could only lower her face. "I should have said something sooner about that. I mean, I realize that you are a… uh, somewhat worldly woman…"

"A 'worldly woman'?" she repeated, before letting a bark of laughter escape her mouth. "You mean that I'm no longer a virgin, yes, and unmarried?"

Milano could only nod, her face flaming.

"Don't fret, Milano. As long as I'm in your body, I won't go near a man."

The maid smiled in relief. "Thank you for understanding, Princess."

"…I will require you instead."

Milano faltered. "But I – you promised–!"

"I need release, my dear, and I want you. And I promised to stay away from men, not women. Namely _you_. This satisfies your need for propriety, doesn't it? I can't take your virginity like a man can. Besides," she smiled, the leer of a predator. "The body you're in now isn't a virgin."

_And I've wanted you for so long, Milano_. _You can't blame me for seizing such an opportunity._

"Princess, please stop, this is not _appropriate_!"

The last word left her lips in a breathless moan when fingers slipped beneath the collar of her high-necked dress, buttons giving way to their insistence, and warm lips found their way to her throat.

"So prim and proper," she teased, planting a delicate kiss on the corner of Milano's mouth, purposefully touching as little of her lips as possible. "You need to learn that there is a time for being inappropriate, Milano… _highly_ inappropriate."

Milano, panting now, clutched the front of the silk gown, eyes squeezed shut as Alita continued to kiss and bless every inch of her exposed skin with delicate sweeps of her tongue.

"This isn't… _ah_…appro–"

_And yet how good it felt, to have someone worship her like this…to Alita worship her with lips, with tongue, with her eyes, body… _

"Don't even _try_ to say that again."

Her eyes fluttered open, catching the red gaze which pinned her helplessly to the wall. Tentatively, she slid her hand up Alita's arm, twining their fingers together. She breathed out slowly, marveling at the sensations pricking her skin. Milano relented. She accepted. Because – _by the_ _gods, it felt so, so good and she wanted it_.

"As you wish, Princess."

Alita only smiled when the younger woman melted against her.

_End_


End file.
